


spilt paint, flower crowns and phil lester

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Art student!Dan, Fluff, M/M, Tiny weeny bit of angst, like a lot of fluff, mentions of self harm, pastel!dan, what has happened to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wherein Dan is a pastel!art student who’s also kind of a hot mess</p>
            </blockquote>





	spilt paint, flower crowns and phil lester

Dan sighed wearily, resting his cheek on one suspiciously red hand. Two hours, and he had accomplished next to nothing; a botched painting with ink spilt all over it - Dan was  still unsure of what it was even meant to be in the first place - and a lump of hard, cracked clay that Dan had molded and reverted back to a lump one too many times. Oh, and the stick figure he was currently doodling in the back of his sketchbook. He spontaneously shut it and shoved it away from him.

He looked up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the opposing wall, narrowing his eyes and blowing his floppy brown fringe out of the way. _For God’s sake_ , Dan, he thought, seeing now how much of a mess he had made out of not only all the materials and tools he had used that day, but of his own appearance. His hair was heavy with dry, fine clay powder, and he was covered head to toe in splotches of paint, ink and other miscellaneous unnatural coloured marks. He scraped with his fingernails at a bit of green paint on his cheek for a bit, huffing and puffing, yet quickly dropping his hand to the table when he saw a familiar pair of blue eyes looking at him.

He spun around in his chair. “What’s going on over there, then?” he called, friendly enough. In truth, he immensely disliked the boy. Phil Lester, such a treat to teachers and parents alike. Time after time, Dan watched as Mrs Matthews made her way over to Phil’s table, loudly praising whatever grand creative masterpiece he had made that day. On his first day in the class, Dan had walked home in tears at her clear favouritism after trying so hard to make an admittedly shitty little bear drawing, which she had barely even glanced at before turning to Phil with a wide beam on her face.

Not that Phil wasn’t nice because Dan was sure he was. They had barely exchanged a few sentences but whenever there was a random encounter like Dan casually asking Phil to pass the brush pot, Phil was polite enough. Nearly textbook polite, that was. Just going through the motions and staring at Dan with his piercing eyes as they exchanged niceties. Damn, Dan could even pick out things that annoyed him from Phil’s _good_ qualities.

“Just drawing,” Phil replied, lifting his sheet. Dan hid a scowl. Even the shadows beneath the lion’s chin would probably give Mrs Matthew a wet dream. He watched as Phil sat back, only to shift and get up.  _Oh, God, don’t you come over here you -_

Phil was by his side in seconds, flashing him a genuine smile as he bent over Dan’s desk, hands gripping the edge of it. “What are you working on?” he asked, even as his eyes ran over the evidence of just some of Dan’s many, many failures. His smile didn’t fall once, gazing back at Dan again. “Oh, so, I’m guessing you don’t have any idea what you’re doing?”

Even though Dan knew Phil was just making conversation, he still took it personally. His blood boiled and he ground his teeth, not saying a word. _Go away._ _Sorry we can’t all be perfect like you._ Phil didn’t so much as flinch, giggling and covering his mouth with a light hand. “I didn’t mean it like that, Dan,” he reasoned, shaking his head.

Dan breathed out and let his eyes fall to the table. “Right, sorry. I’m just having a bad day.” He was. He hated Wednesdays. Those were the days everyone in the class was allowed independence, allowed to do anything they desired. To some, the freedom was exciting and they loved to take advantage of the resources there whilst working on their own thing. To Dan, it was like hiding a needle in a foreign country somewhere and telling him to go fetch it with no other guidance.

Phil shrugged. “That’s fine. I get them too.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dan saw Phil checking him out, looking over Dan’s outfit of the day. Dan shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair for lack of something better to do while Phil just gawked at him. “I like your jumper,” Phil said suddenly, and Dan glanced at him, raising his eyebrows as if to say _oh_?

He hadn’t had much time to get ready that morning, given his late waking up time. He had stayed up until 3am the previous night - morning? - watching his favourite YouTubers and making conversation with the few friends, most from the internet, that he still had. As he was running through the front door, he was still zipping up his lavender jeans one-handedly, the other hand tucking out the collar of his cream shirt.

“Yeah, you look cute,” Phil said quickly, and Dan hadn’t even registered that before Phil had piped up again. “I should get back to my drawing now but do you want my number?”

“How comes?” Dan asked, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I won’t be crying over my ineptness at art and life in general at 3am. Well, probably. Either way, you don’t have to check up on me,” he reassured him, and Phil snorted.

“ _Dan_. I want to be your friend, okay? Plus, I can help you with this ineptness of yours if you want…” Phil offered, smirking. Dan rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to reply before shutting it again, blinking a few times as he felt a warm, lingering hand on his. He looked down at their hands, feeling all the blood in his body rush to his cheeks.

“Um -”

Phil lifted his hand, and there Dan could see Phil had tucked a slip of paper into the palm of his hand. Bewildered, Dan inspected it, seeing a number scrawled messily on the strip. He tilted his head, looking at the older boy. “How did you write this so quickly?”

Phil shrugged. “I jotted it down before you called me over.” _I didn’t call you over_ , Dan thought to himself. “Call me,” he suggested cheerfully, and with that, he wandered off, Dan staring after him with a slight smile playing on his lips. They weren’t friends, and Phil had written down his number for Dan before they had even said one word to each other that morning. Dan wondered if fate really was a thing, or if fate and destiny and all things like that were just fickle terms to excuse someone wanting someone else, and deciding to make something happen.

Then he remembered - he had just gotten the number of the resident teacher pet. He sunk down in his chair, slowly turning around only to see half the class staring at him, most with frowns of clear disapproval and disgust on their faces. _I’m a traitor to everyone and most of all myself_ , Dan figured, yet even as he thought this, he couldn’t help the butterflies in his stomach and the tingling, warm sensation of knowing something really quite brilliant was beginning.

-

Dan dumped his bag on his bedroom floor, kicking it to the corner of his room as he tugged at the collar of his sky blue jumper, eager to get it off after a long day stuck in a hot, claustrophobic classroom. Letting it drop to the ground, he fell back onto his bed, closing his eyes and just relaxing for a minute as he knew his mum would be expecting him down for dinner soon, and then afterwards he would have to go to work. He hated working at the dingy supermarket and facing angry customers and knocked-over stands all day, but it still beat attended university.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he went to retrieve it. Just a text from his Grandma, but that reminded him, he should message Phil. Finding the scrumpled bit of paper, he added Phil as a contact, hesitating as he realised he had no idea what to say to him.

 _Hey, it’s Dan_ was what he settled on. Simple and casual, the ball was in Phil’s court. Not that there were any balls, or any courting. Obviously. He began stretching his arms, yawning, only to be startled by a second notification by his phone. Phil had replied in seconds.

_Hi Dan, it’s Phil (:_

-

Phil hovered in the doorway, beaming at Dan and looking slightly breathless. “Hey, sorry I’m late!” In his hands, he clutched his A3-sized art folder, decorated accordingly with multiple kiddy stickers and some flower doodles filling in any blank spaces. He was dressed in his usual attire, a quirky shirt and plain jeans. Dan always felt embarrassed next to him, given his style was all pastel and mismatched and completely out of the ordinary.

“I won’t kill you for it,” Dan promised, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the bed. “Wanna go to the library? My brother’s having his friends over soon and you know how loud he gets, the little shit,” he said, rolling his eyes. Phil smiled, nodding, and Dan grabbed his bag. “Let’s go then.”

Ten minutes later, and they were curled up on a pair of large bean bags at the back of the library. Dan felt kinda bad for just lurking around in the kid’s section like that, but it was comfy and quiet there. He shifted, and tilted his head to look at the piece Phil was currently working on. “Who’s that?” he asked, running his eyes over the half-finished drawing of a boy.

Phil covered it with his hands, turning his head to look at him. “It’s a surprise. Anyway, want to work on your thing?” he asked pointedly, gesturing at Dan’s matte black sketchbook peeking out of his satchel.

Dan looked over towards it. For the past few weeks, they had been meeting up regularly with Phil still very much determined to help Dan with his artistic capability and general together-ness. Just yesterday, Phil had _just_ caught Dan from slipping on the fresh orange paint he had spilt, with Dan a second away from being sprawled out on the floor, moaning in pain. Phil had held Dan in his arms for just a bit longer than he needed to, and Dan hadn’t been able to keep the smile off his face, slightly light-headed. Not only that, but Phil was helping with other mishaps, like incorrectly followed instructions, unironed jeans - kid you not, Phil had demanded one day at Dan’s house that Dan hand him over half of his clothing, returning the neatly-folded, rosemary-scented garments back the very next day - and late-night emergencies.

Indeed, Dan and Phil had somehow become friends, and maybe even more than that. It felt that way at times when Dan whispered his secrets and doubts to Phil on the phone, gazing up at the ceiling and biting his lip as Phil replied with gentle, reassuring answers and the occasional silly joke here and there that made Dan laugh even as he felt like crying. Not to mention all the flirting they got up to, particularly in class. Dan couldn’t even remember how many sexual innuendos they had made simply pertaining to the _paintbrushes_ , and all of the times they had gotten suddenly, awkwardly close, like the other day when Phil was neatening up Dan’s vase drawing and as Dan leant forward to look at it, Phil just happened to turn his head so their lips almost, _almost_ met.

“Uh, Dan?” Phil prompted, waving his hand in front of Dan’s face. Dan blinked, shaking his head and setting into motion. Right. He snatched up his sketchbook and placed it on his lap, opening it up for him and Phil to look at.

“Kay, so you know how she wants us to do something that shows who we are?” Phil visibly twitched, but nodded. “I know everyone’s kinda taking it literally and drawing all of the things they like and do, but I thought I’d just look at the bigger picture. I mean, who’s to say I’ll still like the same things in ten years? That I’ll still love the same people? It’s easier just to draw what makes me _me,_  if that makes sense.”

Phil nudged him. “But you haven’t even started, Dan. What’s your great idea, then?”

“A surprise,” Dan replied, and winked.

-

Dan gazed around the park, taking in all that was around them; ominous silhouettes of stark, bushy trees casting shadows on the path they walked on, a child’s tinkling laughter and a mother’s weary tone as she called after him, soft thudding of their sneakers on the concrete, flickering streetlamps emitting just enough brightness to get them through, dark grey clouds drifting overhead, surely blending in with the night-time dusk that had fallen upon England, whistling, faintly-glowing fireflies drifting about all over the clearing and last but not least, Phil Lester.

Dan only caught himself staring at the other boy when he realised he had stopped in his place, with Phil throwing a look over his shoulder back at Dan. “I thought we were going back to my place,” Phil said in confusion, coming to a stop as well. Dan shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his mint summer coat, a shade akin to myrtle in the near-darkness. His cheeks were flushed red, his eyes naturally tearing up from the weather and his fingers frozen stiff, but at that moment there wasn’t another place in the world he wanted to be.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit,” Dan urged in a soft voice, and let his gaze wander upwards to the sky. “There’s stars out, you know,” he told him with a slight smirk, because it was corny and stupid and he was freezing his tits off out in the open but there were stars out and then Phil was looking up too, smiling too.

“Okay,” Phil agreed, and was about to head off towards a bench before he suddenly changed his patch, walking up towards Dan and looking at him. Dan blinked, suddenly feeling very nervous with his heart beating in his chest and an unpleasant difficulty in swallowing. He licked his dry lips, staring back at him and standing very still. A pause. Phil smiled blithely and reached up to adjust the beanie covering Dan’s hair, made curly from the humidity of the morning spent in art class, and Dan released a deep sigh. _Idiot._

Thanking him quickly, he looked to the bench Phil had spotted beforehand and rushed over to it, eager to just sit down and huddle up close to his friend. For warmth, that was, of course. A few seconds later, and Phil plonked himself right down next to him, his hand splayed out right next to Dan’s own, less than a mere inch from touching. Dan bit his lip, thinking, and for awhile, they stayed like that, quiet and with their eyes directed upwards.

Then Phil broke the silence. “Dan?” The younger boy gave him a glance, raising an eyebrow in intrigue. “Did you hate me at first? Before we became friends?” Phil asked, looking at Dan’s face intently.

Dan shook his head. “No, I never hated you. I was a bit jealous, yeah, but you know how obnoxiously nice and charming you are so I don’t think I could ever hate you, Phil,” he answered honestly, and shot a quick look at their hands. His fingers twitched impatiently.

Phil nodded. “That’s good. I always thought you didn’t like me. You were always glaring at me.”

 _Oops._ “That’s in the past, you twat. I like you now,” Dan murmured in response.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Phil’s lips twitched. “How much, Dan?”

Startled, Dan rebuffed him. “Not answering that,” he told him, and his breath hitched as Phil’s pinkie finger overlapped his, a small, meaningful gesture. He turned towards him, curious, knee gently knocking into Phil’s thigh. “Why do you want to know?”

Phil held his gaze. “Only because I like you, Dan. Like, a lot.”

A smile spread across Dan’s face, and he ducked his head embarrassedly. “OK, then. I like you.”

“Not in the same way, I don’t think,” and Dan’s smile fell as he lifted his chin back up, gawking at the other boy with his lips now parted in surprise. Phil gave him a bashful smile back, then looked away, rubbing his arm awkwardly. It made Dan want to kiss him for being so sweet and silly, yet punch him at the same time for assuming completely untrue things about him.

He decided on doing the former in only a matter of seconds and grabbed a fistful of Phil’s shirt with the intent of pulling the man towards him. Phil looked at him, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed, and Dan bit back a grin as he leant forward to kiss him sweetly on the lips, just once. Then again, and again, and soon enough Dan was being pushed backwards, lying back on the dewy grass with one arm slung around Phil’s back, taking Phil’s hand properly and squeezing it as they said all of the things they had been dying to with just their lips, tongues and _are you sure?_

-

Dan sat on his bed, humming to himself as he sketched the background on his piece. It had been three days everything had happened, and he hadn’t seen or heard from Phil since. He hoped Phil didn’t think of it as a mistake or anything. Either way, he was so uncomfortably anxious about it all that he took to his art project as a means of distraction.

It was nice, too, drawing. Messing up wasn’t so nice - perfectionism and clumsiness weren’t the best of pals, yet Dan possessed both traits - but he liked it when it was smooth-sailing. Just the glide of a pencil against paper, leaving a smooth black trail in its wake and the only pauses in his activity being sharpening the pencil every now and then.

As he filled in the corners on the page, he found his thoughts drifting back to the one and only Phil Lester. That kiss had been _something_. It was Dan’s first kiss with a guy, but he had known of his own inclination towards boys for ages, a few years even. The kiss had been different from when he kissed past girls, but weren’t kisses always different each time? Maybe not as different and rare as that one. It felt right, like a train pulling into the station right on time or a pair of lips sliding against each other ever so perfectly, less teeth clashing and more warm tongues searching for love and validation in each other’s mouths.

He smirked to himself, thinking about how the kiss developed from there. Obviously, they hadn’t gone and done _it_ right there in the park, even if it at night with no one around. He wanted their first time to mean something else than desperate, in-the-moment horniness. But they had done other stuff, because, you know, desperate, in-the-moment horniness.

Dan realised he had stopped drawing, the pencil still in his grasp but unmoving on the page. He shook his head and carried on. He liked art for this reason - when he was pulled by his thoughts, art tugged him back in to lose himself in an array of colours and textures. He remembered back in Year Nine, when he had drawn something that ended up looking like a flower on his hip with a razor blade. He thought it looked pretty, if he ignored the rivulets of blood from the fresh wound. Since then, he had kept to his art as a way both to express the way he felt and to ignore the way he felt, to distract from the more negative feelings within him. And he didn’t draw pictures on his skin anymore. At least, not as often.

He wondered what Phil would do if he found out. If he saw the scars and the broken mess of a boy who covered up the darkness of his mind with duck egg blue scarves and peach beanies. But just as soon as the worry popped into his head, it had dissipated. Phil wouldn’t care about those things. Hadn’t Phil already made his life a million times better? He would have Phil all to himself, and vice versa, and it would be some kind of lilac perfect.

“Dinner!” called his Mum from downstairs, and Dan pushed the book off his lap to the side.

-

Dan looked up from his phone, scanning the room. Phil had called him only an hour before, asking him to meet him right before art class to look over their projects before they had to show them to everyone else. He had hung up before Dan could question his motives. To say Dan wasn’t worried would be a lie, but to say he wasn’t relieved at all that Phil was speaking to him again would be an even bigger one.

“Phil?” he called, toying with the baubles on his jumper. Grey, today, with matching black skinny jeans. He even had his black earrings on. It had been a lonely few days with a lack of Phil and an onslaught of typical British rain whenever he so much as glanced out the window, so, still painfully numb and bored out of his wits, he hadn’t felt in the mood to plan his outfit the night before. Life was full of disappointments, and he didn’t plan on being one as he dressed to impress.

Indeed, the euphoria that had came with making out with Phil - and other things - had died down after Phil’s withdrawal from calling or even just texting him back. Maybe Phil was in the closet, and didn’t want to do things like that anymore, let alone tell anyone what they did. Or maybe Phil just never liked him in the first place. That’d make sense, Dan had been the one to kiss him, not the other way around. Plus, who would like Dan? He was a failing art student who loved art, he was a hot mess with a need for things to be in order and most of all, he was in love with someone who probably didn’t love him back.

“Hi,” Phil said from behind him, and Dan promptly dropped his book from surprise. He bent down to snatch it up from the floor, beyond embarrassed, before turning around. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at first, but then the smile became a scowl, annoyed at the boy standing in front of him.

“I texted you ten times, Phil. What were you doing?” Dan asked, taking a cautious step back when Phil took one forward. Wisely, Phil didn’t move any closer after that. “I called you, too. Twice. So what is it? You don’t like me now? Because I don’t have the time in my life for boys like you, Phil,” he said in a steely tone, and if his arms weren’t full he would have crossed them to add to his general fuck-you mantra. He hoped Phil didn’t hear the tremors in his voice, or, you know, saw through the rest of his bullshit.

Phil’s eyes widened, and Dan cursed him silently for having such a beautiful pair of eyes. The innocence and confusion within them made Dan want to just go over and hug him for fuck’s sake because he was kinda maybe in desperate need of being held by someone, especially if that someone was Phil Lester.

Phil slowly removed his phone from his pocket, unlocked it then held it out for Dan to take. Wary, Dan shuffled forward and grabbed it, giving Phil a look before staring at the screen Phil had brought up. It took a few seconds for it to sink in before Dan got it, reading each and every message Phil had sent him. _Oops._

“Why didn’t they come through on my phone?” Dan questioned, still wearing his accusatory tone as if Phil had personally contacted Vodafone and told them to block his messages from getting through to Dan. That didn’t seem very likely. Probably.

Phil giggled. “I don’t know. Phones do that sometimes.” He came close to Dan, no longer afraid of him, and his smile fell. “Did you really think I don’t like you?” he murmured, worried. “You know I do, right?”

Dan swallowed, unable to meet his gaze now. He didn’t want Phil to know how incredibly insecure he was. He didn’t want to tell Phil about the time he went home crying because the teacher preferred Phil’s piece to his, or about the time he carved a flower into his skin when he was 13, and how now he was growing a whole garden on his upper thighs. He didn’t want to tell Phil how he loved him. He didn’t want to tell him _anything_ , not because Phil wouldn’t understand or like him any less, but because what if Phil _didn’t_ understand and started not to like him as much? Being logical and irrational all at the same time was simply another one of Dan’s extra special and contradictory personality trait combos.

He forced a cough, deciding to change the subject. “Why did you call me here, anyway? You gonna tell me the name of that lover-boy you drew?” he joked, trying to ease the awkwardness. “Because I think I’m also gonna need his address and phone number if he’s competition for me.”

Phil gave him a sly smile, knowing him and knowing what he was doing. He’d let him do it but first - he leant forward to kiss Dan on the lips. It was only short, but he’d like to think it was full of all the reassurances and promises that Dan needed. He went to go fetch his sketchbook from the other end of the room as Dan watched him, eyes brighter and lips twitching.

“I just wanted to show you my project is all, but I want to see your one first,” Phil demanded, and Dan rolled his eyes.

“Why? You’ll only have to see it again when class begins,” Dan pointed out, and Phil shrugged.

“Yeah, I’ll see it then, but I want to know what it means to you, and why you did it,” Phil explained, and Dan was overcome with the desire to tell Phil how much he meant to him, how he didn’t deserve him.

Instead, he said, “You’re a corny wanker, Phil.” Fondly, of course.

He pulled his sketchbook out, nervous about it. Maybe it was a stupid idea. Sighing wearily, he turned pages until he found his piece, and reluctantly turned it over and held it up for Phil to see. He waited for Phil to look confused, laugh maybe. But he didn’t. He smiled. “Explain it,” he prompted, nudging Dan.

Dan shifted uncomfortably. “Well, um… Like I said, I wanted it to kinda represent my soul and all that spiritual crap. So I know it’s just a sky of stars - but it makes sense to me. There’s always this kind of…darkness, but you never focus on that, do you? It’s in the background and sometimes there aren’t stars that you can see and it all sucks, but it really is just something that you have to grow to accept, I guess. Not that it gets easier, um…” He breathed out. _Calm the fuck down, Dan, this isn’t an oral presentation for English._

He moved on. “And the stars… They represent all the things that make me happy, but they’re also kind of like promises if you know what I mean. Promises of more things. Not just that, though, but things I could be. You know, in the future. Yeah.-” And that was it. He could try to draw more meanings from the picture to try and justify it to Phil, but that was all he felt like saying. Because whether he was the darkness of the sky at times or a soaring star with no idea of it’s direction in life, he knew Phil would always make up the stars that lit up everything, both in himself and his life. It was just something unspoken, a little implication that he hoped Phil would get, somehow.

“I get it,” Phil said kindly, running his fingertips down the page. “I like it.”

Dan fidgeted. “Really? I feel like it’s something really stupid that I’m going to cringe about in ten years time.”

“Speaking of,” Phil suddenly started, just a few seconds shy of interrupting him. “I want to show you my one.” Dan wasn’t sure how him talking about making an embarrassing picture reminded Phil of his own one that was probably brilliant and altogether a wacky, creative masterpiece. He went along with it, however, watching him as Phil sifted through the pages of his sketchbook, finding it before plonking the book right down on the table before them.

Dan turned to look at it - the picture of a boy that Dan had only seen a glimpse of in the library weeks ago. Unblinkingly, Dan stared at Phil’s piece, feeling confused, embarrassed and kinda flattered. “You drew me…” he registered slowly and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Phil’s hand crept along the table to cover Dan’s own, squeezing it. “Look at me,” he told him in a soft voice and so Dan did, knowing a blush was surely coming along across his cheeks. “Remember when you said that you’re probably not going to like the same things or love the same people in ten years?” Working it out and feeling bad for his earlier implication, Dan opened his mouth ready to protest, but Phil waved his hand in dismissal, beaming.

“I guess I just wanted to say that I think I will still love you in ten years, and maybe even longer than that, because I’ve never met anyone like you, Dan, and I don’t think I ever will again.” Dan was taken aback, mouth dropping open. “You represent me, Dan, _just_ you. Because you’re pretty much everything that I will ever want and need in this lifetime,” Phil finished, gently rubbing the back of Dan’s hand with his thumb.

Overwhelmed, Dan just smiled serenely and pulled Phil towards him, kissing him deeply with his eyes fluttering closed. There were a thousand things to say, a thousand things to do and probably a thousand things to get through but for now, he was content. He was content with his adorkable boyfriend who needed just as guidance as he himself did, and he was complete.

**_The secret of art is love_ \- Antoine Bourdelle**

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review if you enjoyed, and I might dare to write some more fluff in the future <3


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